


Defenders of the Indefensible

by AngelBlue



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, F/F, Femslash, Lesbians, Paper Hearts, Pining, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelBlue/pseuds/AngelBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They would fire her if they knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defenders of the Indefensible

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the X-Files  
> feedback welcome  
> Mulder is a trans woman and so is Melissa Scully; nobody tells the President what to do  
> this is gay and I love them so much  
> title from the song "Stars" by Namoli Brennet  
> I'm on the blue hell site at captain-pride.tumblr.com

They would fire her if they knew.

If they knew that behind her suits and stubble and false bravado, she is as woman as the moon.

The wrong kind of woman, too - not trapped in the “wrong” kind of body, but trapped by the wrong expectations. Not the kind of woman who needs to cut herself open and put herself back together so nobody feels threatened - not that she judges her sisters who need a body that feels like home, who need the kind of safety that only tremendous luck and invisibility can afford.

She and her sisters take whatever paths they find necessary for survival. For her, that means hiding in plain sight in a suffocating camouflage of maleness. Her womanhood is plain, unadorned. She did not grow up playing with Barbies and wishing she could be like them. She is not consumed by an innate longing for motherhood. She refuses to make herself small and silent and submissive, a dangerous choice for any woman.  
Some people call this a privilege - that she suppresses her womanhood, carefully crafts her many layers of deception, just to hold onto her job, her home, the last remnants of her family, her life.

She is even more dangerous in another regard - she does not love men and does not want to. She loves women - no, _woman_ , singular, one woman, and if they had any idea how much Mulder loved this woman, regardless of her gender, they would fire her.

She is compromised.

It started off harmlessly - bonds between partners are helpful, necessary for successful cooperation. Agents need a strong rapport, and the Bureau certainly doesn’t discourage friendships. Mulder grudgingly learned to trust her, to let her in - gradually, of course. Some secrets are not meant to be shared. Mulder is a practical woman. Of course she feels protective of Scully. It’s her job to keep her fellow agents safe. She tries to remember when she first acknowledged the slippery slope of more.

Of course, she’s _wanted_ Scully since the moment she saw her. Who in their right mind could be attracted to women and not want Scully? But there’s an important distinction. Women like Mulder may be allowed lust, commodification, but not love. Love is reserved for people whose bodies don’t raise any questions. Happy endings are reserved for men and for women who will give up everything for their happiness. She could not ask that of Scully.

But there’s something undeniable inside Mulder, a marked shift in her priorities. The agent in her says “focus on the mission, focus on the truth”; the woman inside her says “keep her safe at all costs, protect her, if that sorry bastard so much as lays a hand on her, so help me God, I’ll burn him to the ground”. The woman inside her is transfixed by ocean blue eyes, by hair like fire that brushes every so often against her cheek, by black nylons on slender legs, propped up against the dashboard after a long day, by her faint floral perfume, by the way her perfect rosy lips curl so easily into a smirk.

Sometimes Mulder considers making it an official X-File investigation - what makes Scully so different from the six billion other people on this planet, why is she special?

She’s a succubus, maybe. It certainly feels that way sometimes. Like Scully’s drinking away her lifeblood every time she meets her eyes.

Mulder never meant to tell her. Especially not like this. But something makes her call out - maybe it was the way Scully stroked her hair. How she told her to “get some sleep”. Mulder laughs like she’s breaking. Her own heart might as well be a fabric cutout in a plastic bag, spread out bare on the table before them in pieces. One for Samantha, one for her mother, one for the truth, one for all the selves she’s sacrificed, one for Scully.

Scully smiles ruefully and walks away, her heels clicking on the tile.

“Scully!” Mulder calls out weakly. She doesn’t expect her partner to hear her, but Scully stops and turns around, her brow furrowed.

“Mulder, what is it?”

Mulder’s hands shake. She balls them up into fists. “Will you come here for a minute? I - I have something I want to tell you.”

Mulder focuses intently on her own hands; she can’t face Scully’s concern, can’t handle the softness in her eyes.

“Is it about Samantha?”

Mulder shakes her head. “Scully, you know I’m not an ordinary guy,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.

“I’ve known that ever since I first heard about you at the academy.”

Mulder swallows. “What if I told you I’m not…” she trails off.

Scully finishes her question gently. “Not a guy?”

Mulder nods almost imperceptibly, still not meeting her gaze. This was a mistake, this cannot end well, how did she _know_?

.

Scully is fourteen again, her toes dragging through the damp sand, a light mist hanging over the gray afternoon. She approaches her sibling cautiously, the rippling water distorting their reflections.

She hesitates, not sure how to proceed, afraid to interrupt the tears. This is new territory and it scares her.

She has never seen her brother cry like this before.

She crouches down and watches as a sob shakes the bony frame beside her. “What’s wrong?”

A hollow laugh. “‘You’re sixteen now, what a fine young man’. ‘So handsome’. ‘You’re getting so big and strong’. ‘Man up, buddy’.”

Dana has not heard this voice before, this razor-edged bitterness mixed with the shaky hoarseness of truth-telling.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers.

The explanation comes softly, the words heavy, guilty. “‘You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination.’ ‘For this reason God gave them over to degrading passions.’” The voice breaks. “‘A man’s item shall not be on a woman, and a man shall not wear a woman’s garment; whoever does such a thing is an abhorrence unto God.’”

And Dana knows.

The two siblings share the same stormy eyes, the same thick ginger hair; they are both driven in their bones by what their mother lovingly calls “good old Irish stubbornness”, which Dana prefers to think of as careful determination. Now it becomes clear to her that they share a sisterhood as well.

Her sister’s hands are clenched tightly, her arms wrapped around her knees. Dana places a hand over hers and squeezes.

“‘Love does no harm to its neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.’ ‘Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.’”

Her sister finally turns, sniffling, to face her. “But…”

“I like to focus on the verses that really matter.” She pulls down the sleeve of her sweatshirt and wipes at her older sister’s face.

“I - Dana - thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “Come on, birthday girl.”

That earns a laugh. “It feels so good just to hear that, finally. But I -” she sniffles again - “I can’t tell Mom and Dad.”

She pauses and takes in Dana’s expression. “It’s not safe. They could kick me out, Dana, or worse, or…”

Scully’s iron resolve returns. “It’s your choice. But if you do decide to tell them, I won’t let that happen. I swear to you.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Absolutely,” she insists. “I’ll tell everyone, ‘I have the most beautiful sister in the world, look at her.’”

Inspiration strikes her. She pulls her hand away and extends it again. “Hi, I’m Dana,” she teases softly. “What’s your name?”

Her sister beams at her and grabs her hand.

“Melissa.”

.

She’s in the office again, in this infinite moment they call the present.

“Mulder, it’s okay.”

Her partner finally looks up at her but says nothing, hazel eyes wide and urgent.

“Someone close to me is a trans woman. Was,” she corrects, and takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to presume - are you a woman?” She keeps her voice low, wants to sound as gentle as she feels.

Mulder nods, lips curved in that sad smile. “Unfortunately.”

“What would you like me to call you?”

“Just Mulder is fine.”

“What about pronouns?”

“Doesn’t matter much, since you’re the only one who knows. I gotta stay closeted for the Bureau - Mr. G-Man.” Mulder chuckles humorlessly.

“But you’d prefer to be called she?” _For my diary, for the love poems I’m too afraid of to write down on paper_ , Scully thinks, but she won’t dare admit it.

“Yeah.” Mulder runs a hand through her hair. Scully tries not to be so mesmerized.

“Mulder, if there’s anything you need, just let me know, okay?”

She smiles, looking so tired and somehow, _still_ , so beautiful. “Thanks, Scully.”

Scully pauses. “And thank you for trusting me with this. I know it isn’t easy.”

She reaches out her arms offering a hug. Mulder, still in her desk chair, leans in and nestles her head against Scully’s chest. It feels so natural, so right, and Scully entertains thoughts of kissing her forehead, but she pushes them aside.

It makes sense, honestly - Scully had been fretting about a second crisis of sexuality, wondering if she’d fallen in love with a man after all, fearing that she’d be the embodiment of another tired lesbian stereotype. But her heart, her limbic system, whatever part of her knew how to love, knew best after all.

And she _loves_ this woman, this crusader, this passionate, messy, bossy, inconsiderate, wonderful seeker of truth.

She smiles wistfully.

They would fire her if they knew.


End file.
